Origins: a KP Journey from the Future to the Past
by Lady Rhetorica
Summary: Where DID Ron's adopted sister, Hannah, come from? How does her destiny affect those around her, especially Kim and Ron? Find out in a poignant series of vignettes about the Possible women and others with whom their lives intersect. Chpts 1,2,3,5 done.
1. Kim

**ORIGINS: A KIM POSSIBLE JOURNEY FROM THE FUTURE TO THE PAST**

**CHAPTER ONE**  
"**KIM"**

It's just past midnight. We climb up the side of a hill overlooking the corporate headquarters of Global Justice Industries. What was I thinking, I ask myself for the umpteenth time.

"Look at that place. It makes Fort Knox look like a MacDonald's playground," Ron says, shaking his head. "You really know how to protect some place from alien invasions, KP…Ouch! Watch the elbows, little sister san."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," I tell him. In addition to the titanium pillboxes armed with laser cannons around the perimeter, the grounds are booby-trapped with variations of Dr. Drakken's old Diablo robots—triggered by a matrix of visual, thermal, and ground pressure alarms. Breaking into the GJ HQ is virtual suicide, as Shego unfortunately found out several months ago. Searchlights brighten the grounds for hundreds of yards beyond the razor sharp barbed wire fences.

"So how are we getting inside?" Ron persists.

"No big. Follow me." Hannah sticks her tongue out at Ron. We hike our way down a trail.

"What's up with you, KP? You're almost…_giddy_."

"Giddy?"

"Like old Kim."

"So now I'm old?"

"No, I mean like…"

I hear Hannah giggle behind us.

"See? That's what I'm saying, you and Han are acting weird lately, like you're mind-reading each other or something."

"Welcome to my world, ESP Boy." I reach for his hand and squeeze it. There are still some issues we need to resolve, but I feel, somehow, things will be OK between Ron and me.

"Cut it out already. You're acting like we're on a date or something."

"So what if I just want to spend some quality time with my Best Friend Boy Friend?"

"OK, first off, we're spending quality time together…so we can blow up this stupid building and become the two most hated," he hears an _ahem_, "make that the three most hated people by every teenager in America after we destroy their latest P-Pod toys. Second, get your head in the game, Kim. I'm serious. Geez, you haven't called me that since…" His voice trails off as he stares ahead…but he's still holding my hand. Booyah!

"Don't worry, Ron. My head's in the game, more than it's ever been in a long time. When this sitch is all over, we need to talk."

He frowns—Ron doesn't like my "talks." Lately, I can't blame him. "No, not that kind. This kind…" I just squeeze his hand harder. I remember a certain night, another save the world sitch when he was just a goofy eccentric boy with his naked mole rat—_out there, in here_. He's changed, yet I'm still the same old Kim, oblivious to what's been in front of me all along…as Hannah reminded me recently. What a fool I was, pushing him away.

How strange—all my life I've been a public hero, and now, not quite vilified yet, but clearly the news media is confused. GJ is suspicious…no, more than that. _She __knows_ it's me, us, Team Possible once again. But for the time being, they can't prove anything, not with Shego convalescing at the ranch house and maintaining the ruse of my staying at home as her caretaker, with the help of Wade Load's old holograph program.

The dense forest ends at a small clearing in front of an old abandoned mine shaft. "Have we been here before?" Ron asks.

"I discovered it about twenty years ago." I walk inside a few feet and knock away several old boards, revealing a steel door. I take out an enormous key, unlock the door, and step into a tunnel of reinforced steel and concrete. "This," I tell Ron and Hannah, "will lead us directly into the GJ headquarters building." Ron looks puzzled, but Hannah nods with approval. "When Dr. Director hired me to design a security system to protect her new office building over the remains of her brother's old lair, I didn't trust her. Call it residual weirder alertness. I remembered this old mine shaft, and asked Tim and Jim to use part of it to build a tunnel under the nose of GJ, just in case someone wanted to get inside without being noticed." It's almost laughably simple—no electronics—no one would ever suspect.

After half an hour of walking, I open a door into a men's bathroom. "OK, Hannah, you're setting the thermo-explosives around the nano-robotic chip generators. Ron, you're downloading Wade's espionage super virus. Between the two of you, the manufacturing of the Psyche Pods should come to a permanent standstill. I have an appointment with Dr. Betty Director, but she doesn't know it yet. Rendevous back here at 0200. Any questions?"

"As long as we're in the men's room, you know, do you mind if I…"

"TMI, Ron." I roll my eyes.

"Just messin' with ya, KP. Nice having you back…BFGF." Ron kisses me lightly on the lips before he and Hannah vanish.

I make my way to Dr. Director's office, bypassing her own internal security checkpoints with the help of Wade's fake iris contacts and fingerprint gloves. I enter the code for her office—the door opens.

"Come in, Ms. Possible. I've been expecting you. Please, sit down."

"It's over, Betty. The Lorwardians are not going to dupe us into complacency. And these Psyche Pods devices of theirs will soon be inoperable. The Lorwardians won't make us helpless now while they plot another invasion."

"You fool! Our only hope was fighting back with the very technology you and your husband and that crazy ninja girl have been destroying with such efficiency. The Lorwardians didn't invent the Psyche Pods—_we _did. We could have developed a unified Earth army. You might have doomed us all, Ms. Possible."

"Might have?" I ask.

"And you, Ms. Possible, through your naïve ramblings about the dangers of the 'peace treaty,' actually helped feed the public paranoia. People still trusted you. I couldn't have dreamed of a more perfect setup."

"Glad I could be of assistance. But not anymore."

"My brother Sheldon was right about one thing. In order to motivate people towards a utopia, one must first create a scapegoat, something to fear. All that remained was creating an incident to incite the earth's population. They would willingly do anything with the help of the Psyche Pods to build a perfect world order, with the guidance of Global Justice Industries, of course."

"I've heard that one too many times, though not so insidiously and euphemistically put. Drakken simply called it 'world domination.' Again, what's with the _might_ have?" I repeat.

"We've been holding their leader, a spy, as a hostage. When we agreed to an exchange of technology, they lied to us, sending us nothing of value. But with our technology, the Lorwardians will no longer be a threat. Let's just say they will reap what they have sown." She laughs maniacally at her own inside joke.

"There's one more thing I learned from my brother." She pushes a button on her desk, and metal bands snap around my arms and legs, strapping me to the chair. _Damn! I'm such an idiot_.

"I added a few personal features to my office, inspired by my brother, Sheldon. While I held the Lorwardians at bay, your husband and that ninja assistant of his have been destroying my legacy. You are going to pay, Ms. Possible." She looks insane.

"Before you doom us, I want one last remaining pleasure of knowing you died getting ripped to pieces by a very angry Lorwardian."

The chair suddenly falls down a gut-churning acrylic chute; I think I hear Ron yelling, "Kiiim!"

I try to twist so I don't break my neck on the concrete floor rushing towards me, but I still land hard on my feet. I hear the bones crack as one of my ankle twists—an old injury from the last time I had to deal with one of the Director twins. I bounce forward on my kneecaps before hitting my head hard against the floor. I am helpless, dumped unceremoniously into a large concrete dungeon. I gasp…for some reason my first thoughts are on a little naked mole rat.

The Lorwardian walks towards me. She is a giant, fifteen to twenty feet tall, somewhat stooped over, with deep wrinkles in her face. Her mass of gray hair hangs down to her waist. Her eyes are the color of onyx, like a shark's. She's wearing a huge, shapeless robe that looks as if it were made from some brown animal fur, tied at the middle with a rope. But even through the robe I can tell she has massive muscles. She could indeed rip me into pieces.

She opens her mouth—I see her fangs, sharp like the nails on her fingers. I hear an ear-shattering roar of rage. In all the missions I experienced, seldom was I ever actually afraid. But now, my mind goes blank.

* * *

When I open my eyes, I'm lying on a huge cot, with a coarse blanket covering me up to my bare shoulders. My mission clothes are neatly folded on a nearby bench. I feel like a toy Barbie doll. The giantess is examining my knees and ankles. "Hey, what are you doing?" 

"Be still, child. I'm examining you," she says. She reminds me of my mother.

"I can see that, but…uhmmm," I gasp when she touches my leg.

"Because I am a flesh weaver, or what you might call a shaman," as if that were self-evident, like my mother's old _because I'm the mommy_ tee shirt. "Your knees are bruised, but are otherwise undamaged. Your leg is broken near the ankle. I set the bones while you were passed out, but they need to be healed. I don't have the strength I used to have, but I think I can still manage this." She places a rolled up rag in my mouth. "This may hurt some," she says as she enfolds my entire foot into her hands that are the size of laundry baskets. For a moment I feel again the excruciating pain, the rag muffling my cry as I bite down hard. I feel the bones, tissues, and marrow mending—then the pain disappears. I lift my foot off the cot, wiggle my toes…a bit stiff, but otherwise, good as new. Then I notice the giantess grimace. Her own ankle turns a dark, mottled purple, then returns to its _normal_ Shego green. This is too weird. "How did you do that? Who are you?" I ask.

She interrupts me again. "Shush. I am old, even by my people's standards. I can't do what I could when I was a mere 60…or 300 of your earth's solar rotations." Several minutes pass, then she takes a deep breath, like someone who's finally reached the top step after running up the stadium stairs.

She smiles down at me. "I am honored to finally meet you, Kim Possible. My name is Mara. Please forgive me for startling you with my war cry. When I recognized you, I was angry and feared you were beyond help. As I examined you, I also noted much battle scarring and some curious burn marks. At least two of your ribs have been broken. Your internal child bearing organs have also been damaged, though otherwise unused."

I merely frown and nod. "Tell me something I don't know," some of the old bitterness creeping back into my voice.

Mara looks at me intently, "There are other internal scars as well, it seems," the creature said.

"How did you fix my leg?" I ask.

"Simple energy transfer and acceleration. Few individuals are blessed with the burden of this ability," Mara replies. I remember what Hannah did for Shego a few months ago… "Fortunately, human physiology is virtually identical to Lorwardian, though you are smaller and more primitive."

"So what's the sitch," I ask, wanting to change the subject.

"I have long been waiting to see you—thank you for answering my summons."

"Summons? I didn't know you were here. You're the enemy. I mean, thanks for fixing my leg, but…Dr. Director said you were a spy." I feel confused. For years, I've been warning others to not trust the Lorwardians, yet here is this thing who acts like a twenty foot green version of my Nana, wise and concerned.

A deep growl rumbles from within her. "The foolish woman, caught up in her own fears. I came as an ambassador of our people; I wished to express our regret over bringing such harm and destruction to your planet. Instead, that creature wanted to know our invasion plans. There were none."

"But why see me? Does this have something to do with defeating Warmonga years ago?"

"No, child. Your body bears witness to your courage and ability as a warrior. But I wanted to see you because you create works of such beauty with your hands and words."

"Lorwardia is dying, Kim Possible. Wars have impoverished our planet—the cruel circle of famine caused by invasions against other planets, which were excused to feed starving Lorwardians. Thus the attack on Earth by the likes of Warhok and Warmonga. When they did not return, the warrior class knew they had finally met a greater enemy. I suggested we sue for peace, and envoys were sent. Your so-called Global Justice wanted an exchange of technology. While our space and war technology is much more advanced than yours, the Cosmic Mother forbids us from artificially manipulating the essential nature of living things, what you humans call genetic engineering. A team of earth scientists led by a Dr. Drakken sent us plants and seeds promising greater yields of food. In exchange, I came to give you this." From beneath her tunic she shows me a black stone obelisk.

"After the first year or so, the earth plants seemed to deliver as promised. What we did not know was that the new plants would obliterate our own native ones. Pesticide poisons bred into the earth plants spread throughout Lorwardia when they released their pollen into the air. I will spare you the horrific description of the fate soon awaiting my planet. You no doubt have enough examples of disease and starvation in your own earth's history."

"I am so sorry, Mara. I didn't know."

"Your earth merely precipitated an inevitable end. I do not blame the fear of a backwards race that has suffered at the hands of our war leaders. Those like Warmonga do not represent what was once a great and noble civilization. I am the one who is sorry, Kim Possible."

"What is that thing?" I ask.

"The obelisk. Your Global Justice kept asking me about Lorwardian invasion plans and were convinced the obelisk held some secret to some new weapon technology, which we were not so foolish to trade away. I said it is a gift to the earth. I insisted I would present it only to the warrior leader, Kim Possible. That seemed to anger the Director creature. She has kept me in this cell for the past fifteen solar rotations."

"The obelisk is made from the core of our planet, and it is impervious to any harm from human technology. The obelisk contains the record of Lorwardia, Kim Possible. Our civilization has run its course, over 100,000 years. The obelisk records our history, our songs, myths and legends. I wish for you to preserve them, to tell the humans on earth about us."

I stare at the shiny black stone, cool to the touch, but denser and heavier than lead. "How does it work?" I ask.

"Talk to it, and it will reveal images and sounds, somewhat like your holographs. Ask it questions. The more you learn, the more questions you will learn to ask. It will tell you about me, my lovers, my children and grandchildren, my life and journeys…Now, tell me about yourself, Kim Possible."

So I tell her, haltingly at first, but soon I'm baring my soul to her. She merely nods, sometimes smiles, but always with rapt attention. I conclude with my problems with Ron, Yori, and Hannah.

Mara looks at me somewhat puzzled. "There are creatures throughout the universe that are self-generating. Is that such a difficult concept in itself? One can access life forces from the cosmos or even from the planet itself. It is rare. Indeed, such a thing has happened only once in Lorwardia, in the midst of the dark ages long ago. Strangely enough, it has happened twice before on your earth, within a few generations of each other, a mere two thousand solar years ago, though on opposite sides of your planet. Are you so backwards in the ways of the universe? Do you not trust your mate?"

"With my life, but…"

"Did this Yori lie to you? Is there evidence that they deceived you?"

"Well, no. Actually, the weird thing is…"

"Then the matter is simple logic, child. What _do_ they teach you here on earth?"

I feel like I'm in kindergarten again. What has been a complicated torment now seems like an explanation to a small child over why the sun comes up or why it rains. I feel…ashamed.

She just smiles again. "I don't judge you. Thank you for the gift of your life story. You've already lived a fuller and richer life than Lorwardians such as Warmonga." She is quiet for a few moments.

"I am too old for the journey home, even if there were any Lorwardian ships to take me back for the proper rites. I wish to give you one more thing, Kim Possible."

She gently pushes me back on the cot and covers my abdomen and waist with her huge hands. I feel something burning within me—I realize what she's doing. "No, Mara," I cry. "You mustn't. You'll die."

"Shush, child. I willingly do this thing, for you are still of age to bear children. Consider my gift to you as but small reparation for the harm my planet brought to yours. Now cease talking. This will hurt, but the pain will pass soon enough. Be brave once more, my young warrior." She is chanting something; I double over as my gut cramps and waves of nausea roll through me. Finally, the pain is gone. I open my eyes, and see Mara stretched on the concrete floor beside me, still uttering her strange chant. Her eyes stare at the ceiling, her mouth open in a silent gasp of agony, and then she sighs.

I jump out of the cot and try to arrange the blanket beneath her head. "Mara, we can help you…"

"No, my child." My tears fall on her cheek. "I have achieved a life feat. I gladly give up my spirit to mend your scars so that someday a young life may grow inside your womb."

"Remember me, Kim Possible." She breathes deeply once more, and then is still. I sit beside her, unaware of time…

I feel a hand on my shoulder. "KP, are you all right? What did, uh, this thing do to you?"

"Her name is Mara. She didn't do anything _to_ me. She did something _for_ us." Ron pulls me to my feet and holds me close as I sob into his shoulder. He doesn't say anything; he just strokes my hair.

Finally, I stop. Ron whispers in my ear, "Kim, no disrespect intended, but…as badical as you look in your underwear, I think you should put your mission clothes back on." I look up into his face. I laugh…and start sobbing again.

Hannah bends down, closes Mara's eyelids, and covers her with the coarse blanket. "The old one, she was a shaman." It wasn't a question; she just knows.

After I tie my shoes, I ask Ron, "How did you find me?"

"It took a little coercion on Hannah's part to finally get the good Dr. Director to spill."

I nod. "We can't leave Mara here in this place. Not like this."

"I know. We'll do this right."

* * *

It is just before dawn. We stand around Mara's body, me by her side, Ron and Hannah beside her head and feet. Ron begins to speak: "G-d of the Universe, full of compassion, may the soul of this Lorwardian, Mara, rise to a place of rest." They close their eyes; their hands begin to glow. A bluish flame enwraps Mara's body; they lift Mara with their upraised arms. Hannah continues: "Enfold her under your wings. May she find peace among the heavens. Amen." 

Mara begins to rise toward the sky, faster and faster, until she's a brilliant blue mote streaking across the night sky like a comet. Then she is gone.

"Thank you, Ron. You too, Hannah."

"It was our honor, Kim. She was a great woman." Hannah keeps staring up at the stars.

"Kim, what did you mean by, 'she did something for us'?" Ron asks.

"Let's find out," I smile at him. I whisper into Hannah's ear, "How would you like a…" Hannah squeals and jumps into my arms.

Ron shakes his head. "You two! I just don't get it. Why can't the ladies just say what they mean?"

"You got me, Ron." I grab his hand and Hannah's. "Let's go home."


	2. Hannah

**CHAPTER TWO**  
"**HANNAH"**

_Greetings, dear brother mine. I'm attempting my most difficult and dangerous mission yet today._

_Good Luck, kiddo. Tell Kim I'll be home sometime tomorrow—you know why. Well, on second thought, I'll tell her myself. Oh, man…are you sure about this, Han? Do you think she's ready?_

_The time has come for action, as you know, whether she agrees or not. Good luck, brother, and be careful._

_Hah, you're the one walking into the tiger pit, alone I might add. Just like your mother._

I smile. He always knows how to make me smile, even when I know his heart secretly breaks. He is more than a brother, something Kim has never been willing to accept. I know she loves Ron, but while she can do the impossible, believing the impossible is another matter. She almost divorced my brother, until my mother finally intervened. Kim lives like one of the stoneware pots she makes these days, strong and attractive to tourists, but with a crack under the surface, hidden beneath the glaze. She said she forgave my brother, though there was nothing to forgive. When she and Ron discovered that all their missions and accumulated injuries had damaged her ability to bear children, she refused any reparative surgery. Kim and Dr. Possible did not speak to each other for several months. She even refused to consider adoption. If she only knew the depths of my brother's love for her. A lesser man would have left her long ago.

I'm reading through one of her latest children's books when she walks into her living room, covered in clay.

"Hannah," she says, "I didn't hear you come in." She is about to hug me, then notices the grime on her work smock. "Oh, wait, let me get cleaned up first. I was about to make lunch. Make yourself…well, you know the routine. Ron left his junk all over your room again. I'll clean it up in a bit. I'm so glad to see you," she says. And she is. It is one of those perplexing enigmas of my brother's beloved, that her heart is as open and large as the ranch she and Ron bought here in New Mexico, yet closed in ways she herself cannot see or understand. They're just clothes, Kim, I don't mind. I stand up, grabbing her wrist before she disappears into her bedroom, and pull her into a long hug. There is just the briefest second of tension. Then she relaxes and returns the hug, wrapping her arms around me. She laughs at the muddy stains left on my cheek. "I tried to warn you," she says as she licks her finger and wipes my face clean.

We sit on the back deck of Kim and Ron's ranch house, eating gourmet cucumber, goat cheese and lox sandwiches. No one would believe that when she was a teenager, so my brother tells me, the only thing more dangerous than Kim on a mission was Kim in the kitchen. Now her culinary skills rival Ron's. Almost everything she makes is homegrown from her garden. She and Ron are not vegetarians, but they eat meat sparingly, almost always from animals on their ranch, yet another one of the strange contradictions in Kim Possible.

She tells me about the hassles with her agent and publisher over the draft of her latest collection of essays. "He keeps telling me no one's interested in my criticisms of the peace treaty with Lorwardians or my meditative musings on fossils on my ranch. 'You could be the next J. K. Rowlings,' he told me the other day. And would you believe this? Disney asked him if I'd be willing to be a character in a cartoon series. But the real money's in the peripheral stuff, like the new Disney psyche pod games and action figures. It's disgusting."

The psyche pods are the latest craze, I have observed, small neural transmitters that can be attached to the side of one's forehead. They allow people to download movies, television shows, just about anything into the visual receptors of the brain so that you can "see" yourself inside the show as if you were one of the three dimensional characters, like a ghost. The games allow a person to actually participate in the action. The Pods are available exclusively at any Smarty-Mart, where they have P-Pod piercing stations next to their ear-piercing booths in the jewelry department. In order for the gadgets to work, a person only has to buy into an initial 12-month download contract and get approved for a monthly prescription of pod pills, which allow the gadgets to work after they are attached. The P-Pods, media and games, and medication are manufactured and sold by Global Justice Industries, which takes an aggressive approach towards prosecuting any black market privateers. The P-Pod meds can be purchased at any Smarty-Mart pharmacy.

"So, what's the sitch, Hannah?"

"I need..."

"No! Ron tries to hide certain things about you, Hannah. I read about 'mishaps' at GJ factories and distribution centers around the world, missing information at Smarty-Mart headquarters. Their publicists cover up what's really happening. But I'm not stupid. I know the level of security around these places. Hell, I helped design their most advanced security system around some of their key buildings, LOL." But she is not laughing. "Not too long ago, after Shego separated from Dr. Drakken, she tripped the security matrix while trying to break into the GJ pharmaceutical refinery. It almost killed her. I thought she had turned her life around. She was teaching math again at Middleton High, and then she relapsed into a corporate thief. I had to use up practically all of my influence with Dr. Betty Director to convince them not to put Shego into a permanent detention hospital."

"I know, Kim."

"Of course, you know," she says. "And you also know that Ron and I had her moved into a private care institute near Rio Dosa and that I visit her every other weekend. Sometimes I think she remembers me, like when her eyes light up and her lips start to form her old sarcastic smirk. But most of the time, she just sits on the balcony, staring off into the desert. The next time I see her I'm bringing a paint set with me. Her therapist said an art project might spark her mind into working again."

I know that as well.

"But that's besides the point," continues Kim. I sometimes forget about Kim's rants. Once they get going, they are like avalanches, one thought bumping into a bigger one, until the whole hillside of mental boulders tumble out of her mouth before I can say anything. "Only someone with the ninja training of a Yamanouchi graduate, my old fighting skills, and a certain mystical monkey power, would have any chance of getting away with the things I hear about. I am so glad I convinced Ron to give up on Team Possible and pursue a career as a master chef. Yeah, I know you two can do your mental cell phone act. But now, if he's not at his restaurant, he's setting up subsidiary café's around the country. He's in Santa Barbara this weekend." She pauses for a moment. "I don't like what you do, Hannah. You know I'm not a fan or advocate for GJ—I dislike that organization for a lot of reasons. But being a vigilante isn't the way to improve society—I figured that out finally, Hannah. But you've taken things a step further. You're a bio-techno terrorist."

Ah, I sigh. At last we can start speaking the truth to each other. "Is that why you are always angry whenever I visit, Kim?"

"No…well, yes, I mean it's embarrassing that my husband's little sister has become the reincarnation of Shego. And you wouldn't tell me, and Ron lies for you, and I have to pretend to believe him. Yes, those things make me angry. And the fact that you're the spitting image of your birth mother doesn't help, but that's a separate issue. The real reason…" She stands up and clenches the balcony, her fingernails leaving indentions in the wood. A single tear falls on her cheek. "The real reason…after Mr. and Mrs. Stoppable retired, and by then Ron and I had been married a few years. You came to live with us. You've been like my little sister…I know what can happen to you if you get caught…if you were to get hurt."

Perhaps you understand how Ron always felt about you, I think to myself. For a second time that day, I wrap my arms around Kim. This time there's no stiff tension in her body. She's calm now. The avalanche is over, and she looks at me like I'm one of the small natural calamities that frequently occur in the desert, the desert that has become such an important part of her life. She spoke something bottled inside her; like a scientist, she assesses the damage, and accepts the truth of how things are…so she thinks.

"Can we visit your friend Shego?" I ask her.

"OK," she responds, her eyebrows raised in suspicion.

When we arrive at the convalescent center, Shego's nurse lets us into her room. She's sitting in her wheelchair, out on the balcony. Kim brushes her long black hair, now heavily streaked with gray, and talks about her latest pottery project, the health of her goats, and my need to upgrade my wardrobe, since we happen to be close to some upscale shopping centers. Shego's face is thin and drawn, barely hinting at the sensuous strength and beauty, like a panther's, that I saw the last time we had met. Her nurse brings a glass of water and a handful of pills. "Do you mind if I give these to Ms. Go?" I ask the nurse.

"That's fine. I'm so glad she has some company today. Sometimes she can get a little stubborn about her medicine, but she's usually a sweetie. Now you be a good girl for Mrs. Possible and her friend," the nurse says to Shego as she leaves the room.

I examine the pills closely, and then crush them in my hand and flush the broken bits down the toilet. "What the…," Kim starts to say, but I ignore her. I kneel in front of Shego and hold her head gently but firmly between my hands.

I close my eyes and concentrate. _Ron, are you there?_

After a few minutes, I hear his thoughts. _Hey, Sis. What's up?_

_I need your help_, and I visualize Shego for him. Ron doesn't say anything, but soon I feel a warm power emanating from deep within, both wild and familiar. Ron helps me focus the energy, glowing blue, towards my hands, into Shego. Kim often thinks Ron and I do a sort of Vulcan mind-meld with each other like she's seen on Ron's old Star Trek videos. It's nothing like that. Instead, I sense a crushing assault on Shego's thoughts, as if some armada were invading her soul, and the last vestige of her being were barely staving off the inevitable. Ron and I together visualize a hurricane, a great wind blowing away the armada. I finally remove my hands from Shego; in both my palms lie two tiny computer transistors that look exactly like the internal hardware for P-Pods. _Thank you, brother._

_My pleasure, Han_, then he leaves.

"Oh dear God," Kim says as she takes the objects from my hands and examines the drops of blood on Shego's head. Kim cleans away the blood; there are no marks on the skin. I'm exhausted. Kim half carries me to the small couch in Shego's room, and then wheels in Shego.

Shego slowly opens her eyes; they seem much brighter than when we first entered the room. She sees Kim, and a hint of the old rivalry returns to her voice. "Hey Princess, where's that dorkhead husband of yours? He owes me one. And why am I strapped to this stupid wheelchair? I feel like I've been in a 24 hour Kim Possible Kung Fu marathon, not that you'd still be standing." Shego sees me; a pained expression passes over her face. "I remember you, Little Sister Dorkhead. How'd I do? I am so tired." Her head falls forward and she starts snoring. Kim picks her up and gently lays her on the bed.

She grabs my arm like a beartrap, "OK, Hannah Stoppable. You've got some 'splainin' to do."

"I know, but first we have to get her out of this place. Do you think you can arrange for some kind of house care?"

"I'll see what I can do."

I pack away the few clothes and toiletries I can find in Shego's room.

"All right," says Kim when she returns from the main office a few buildings over. "I pulled a few strings, what few I have left around here, and arranged for her to stay with us for the next week or so." She hands me some bottles of pills with Smarty Mart Pharmacy labels. "They were rather insistent about making sure I give these to Shego everyday. Funny, I don't recall any such requirements when I had her transferred here from the GJ infirmary."

* * *

We leave Shego in one of Kim's guest rooms. "Come with me," she says in her old _I'm in charge_ mission voice. I follow her down a short hiking trail not far from her house, carrying a couple of lawn chairs. The trail ends at the edge of a small bluff, overlooking the desert valley settled between her ranch and a distant mountain range. "I call this my thinking place," Kim says. "It's where I go when I have a writing block, or when I'm mad at Ron…Time's up, Hannah. Spill." 

"You know what you said about Shego breaking into the GJ research laboratories? She wasn't reverting back to her old ways. She was, uh, doing some private investigation work" (is she ready for this?) "for me and Ron."

Kim's eyes open wider, but she says nothing.

"Ron told me what happened to him just before Christmas during your senior year at Middleton. Do you remember?" She frowns, as if briefly reliving some painful memories. "He's never trusted Global Justice since then, and when GJ arranged an exchange of technology with the Lorwardians as part of an inter-planet peace treaty, he was suspicious. Kim, I know this will be hard for you to believe, but they have been planning another invasion, only this time they're being sneakier about it. Call me a terrorist if you want, but we're not. We're freedom fighters."

"We? Who is _we_?" Kim asks.

"_We_ as in me, Ron. Yori. Ron's restaurant business, it's just a front. Wade works for GJ, but he's actually our inside man who feeds us information, helping us know what can be destroyed or compromised that will cause the most damage to the GJ corporation. Wade told us about a project GJ was working on that needed to be investigated. You were involved in, um, other things and seemed to be struggling through some issues, and Ron didn't want you to know he was involved in what you call techno-terrorism, especially since you made it clear to him to stay away from the old save-the-world missions. The problem was how to break into the GJ research building, especially after you had, you know, done such a great job at helping them design their security system. Ron was approached by Shego about getting involved with Team Possible; teaching high school math apparently bored her. I had planned on doing this mission myself, but Shego insisted on volunteering. She claimed she was still in top condition, and said she could outsmart any security system you designed. She was wrong, and I'm really sorry. It was my fault she was nearly…"

"Stop." Kim glares at me, and I have to look away. "Shego's a big girl, and if anyone deserves a self-incriminating 'I'm guilty' pity-fest, I do, not you. Just tell me one thing. What makes you think I can do any better than Shego?"

"Stand up," I tell her. Without any warning, I launch a tae kwon do style spinning kick. Kim blocks my foot and flips me by the ankle hard on the ground. "There are maybe two or three people in the world who could do that to me: my mother, my brother…and my teacher, who taught me everything I know." I bow to her.

Kim bows back. "I didn't teach you everything. I still have a few of Nana's moves I keep to myself." She grins; it has been a long time since she has smiled at me. "But," her frown returns, "one of us could have been hurt, pulling a stunt like that."

"I know you, beloved of my brother." I formally bow to her again. "I have seen your so-called 'barn.' You may keep some goats inside of it, but I know the signs of a martial arts training facility when I see one. You may not be as fast as you used to be…" Kim raises her eyebrows as a subtle challenge for me to find out. "But…I think I'll shut up now."

"I think we need to check on our guest. Also, how do you know I'd be willing to help you? If I didn't already know you, how do you know I wouldn't turn you into GJ right now?" Kim asks.

"Because I have read everything you've ever written. I think that like Ron's restaurant business façade, you have been keeping your own façade. I think you maintain the image of an ex-super hero, artist slash novelist in recluse in order to hide some of your own pain and disappointment. But in your books and essays, I still see your passionate love for your friends and family, your desire to help others, and your anger at the ones who hurt those you love and try to help."

"Well, maybe. You're overstating things a bit," she says, somewhat embarrassed.

The time arrives; I must know her answer. "Kim, do you not understand me yet, after all these years? I love and respect the memory of my legal mother; she and my legal father gave me my family name and a history and heritage that I am proud of; she gave me a home, and she gave me my brother. I also love my birth mother, whose natural gifts I inherited and whose sense of honor and courage I seek to emulate. But the mother who has been the model for everything I do and believe in, the woman who I wanted to be like growing up, the friend and sister who I love more than life itself, _that_ mother is you, Kim…And now, I need your help." I stand in front of her; I am ashamed of the tears pouring down my face, of my weakness, of my audacity for telling her what has long been in my heart.

She holds my head up, her hand resting along my cheek. She wipes away my tears, and stares at the moisture on her fingertips with something like the awe she expresses whenever one of her animals gives birth. She looks at me with an expression I've not seen before, as if something hard and frozen within her has finally melted away, as though she finally understood something about herself…and me—_her daughter!_

She holds me in a tight hug I have missed for too many years and kisses me on the cheek. "I am so sorry, Hannah. Thank you. I love you, too…Oh, and another thing—count me in this sitch."


	3. Anne

**CHAPTER THREE**  
"**ANNE"**

_Mom, Middleton Medical College accepted me into their Ph.D.-M.D. neurosurgery program! _

_I'm so happy for you, dear. What about that nice young man you're dating? _

_That was a year ago, and now I won't have time for that sort of thing anyway. Besides, he's going away to study rockets. _

_Where are you going after you graduate next month? _

_To med school, right here in Middleton._

_Oh, that's right. You just said that, didn't you? I'm sorry._

_It's OK, Mom. Don't be. I'll take care of you. _

I am a neurosurgeon, a wife, a mother. I am a mechanic; mostly I fix things. That's what I've done most of my life. The difference between my husband the rocket scientist and me is that he creates machines that then need to be repaired. I repair a living machine that's been around for millions of years and is still far more complex than anything he's ever imagined.

I have always resisted treating the human body as just a thing, an object. Even while working on my med degree, I would fight my committee on my research project. "Study men," they said, "they're much more stable. Women—they're always changing—you'll never get any reliable data." They were like geologists studying cold lava rocks but ignoring a live volcano in their backyard. No—I wanted to understand something alive, growing, changing—how can anyone understand the human brain while ignoring all the changes and experiences that affect it? There are about a dozen things to know about men, like lava rocks. But women—we're like a volcano, living, changing, never the same one day from the next.

And if there was ever an apt metaphor to describe my daughter, Kimberly Anne, it's a volcano.

"Stay away from me, _Doctor_ Possible. You don't understand—you can't fix it this time. He cheated—and lied—and you can't possibly understand—just stay away from me."

She storms out of my office, slamming the door behind her. Patients, people who are hurt, sometimes vent their fears and frustrations at me. I understand—that comes with the territory. We are trained to maintain a degree of detachment. But never before have I been called Dr. Possible by my own daughter—always before, "mom."

No mother likes her children being angry with her. The twins, Jim and Tim, would often stomp upstairs to their room, muttering, "I hate you, I hate you," thinking I didn't hear them. The words hurt, but after all, I knew what was best for them, and still do. And they're boys—well, no, young men now—but they're always my boys. Resilient.

Kim and I have our share of arguments, but we always shared a special connection I never had with the twins, even though she's more like Jim's mother, Nana, than me. She's amazingly strong and tough—but also fragile.

All her life I've been putting band-aids on scraped knees, splints on twisted ankles and wrists, stitches to close wounds I'd rather forget about. It's almost a miracle she survived to first grade.

I cancel some meetings and get to work on the main crisis of the day. As a surgeon, I diagnose the nature of the problem first, evaluate the patient, and then look at the big picture to determine the best method to solve the problem.

On my way to Kim and Ron's apartment, I call Ron. "Hello, Ron?… No, I'm sorry, it's your mother-in-law. May I come over?… No, I haven't eaten lunch…Are you sure?…That's fine, see you in a bit."

My mind is wandering as I drive through Middleton. Human brains weigh about 1400 grams. They have the consistency of Jello, or tofu. My work grosses out my family, but for me, the brain is a beautiful, mysterious, adaptable machine, a network of 100 billion cells called neurons. They are lithe and interconnected, firing electrical impulses, compensating, caring and cooperating with each other. They allow us to think and conceptualize. The parts of the human brain that control physical actions and emotions are not much different from animal brains. But iguanas and cocker spaniels don't write poems about the meaning of life. That's the human layer, the contradictory part that allows Kim to rage against the people she loves.

Their apartment door is open. I walk in and find Ron, sitting on the couch, looking at the floor, clutching his hair with a note wadded in his fist.

I sit next to him and feel his forehead. "You don't look very well, Ron."

"Ya think?…I'm sorry, Mrs. Dr. P. I didn't mean…It's just…Kim left."

"Maybe she's with Monique." The kitchen is clean—a definite sign Kim hasn't been in the apartment for the past few hours.

"No. You don't understand. She _left_ left." Ron hands me the note. _Ron. I need to get away from here and think about us. I don't know when I'll be back, or if I'll be back. Don't try to find me._

"Ron, what happened?" I am dumfounded. This isn't like her.

"You might want to sit down. Would you like some coffee?" Ron asks.

"Please and thank you," I say, though I quit drinking coffee years ago. Ron knows that, but in a crisis, he slips back into his old mission routine, the distraction. I never quite appreciated the value or difficulty of being a distraction until I went on a mother-daughter mission with Kim. Keeping up with her on that train was like reliving her adolescent years—scared me to death. My admiration for Ron grew that day. Now he goes through the niceties of being the distraction. I hear him muttering, "Let's see, where's my decaf Javanilla for Anne?…1 percent milk, snap, we're almost out…Mr. Dr. P's going to go black hole berserk…A little ground nutmeg…Here you go, Mrs. Dr. P." Amazing! He's on the edge of a panic attack, yet can make a gourmet cappuccino almost without thinking.

We sit down at the kitchen counter. He's in control here, where he's learned how to defuse Kim's temper or frustrations with his own version of milk and cookies. And he thinks I'm going to explode: _What did you do to my daughter, Ron?_ No, Anne. Just listen and assess the problem, and then decide how to fix it.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"It's kinda complicated."

"I'm a neurosurgeon. I think I can follow."

"Right. You see, Hannah's birthday was this week, and then Kim came home from the doctor's office. Well, she didn't say anything at first; she laughed and said the doctor was ridiculous. But it wasn't her normal laugh, I could tell. Then Hannah received an invitation to Japan, and she yelled at Hannah for not cleaning her room, and she went to see you at the hospital this morning, then I came home and found this note on the table."

"Ron, can you slow that down a little and tell me what really happened?"

"OK. I'll try. Hannah had her 15th birthday this week. Well, when my parents adopted her, we didn't know who her biological parents were, of course. She's really grown up the past couple of years."

Kim and Ron raised Hannah. When she was about five or six, she was the flower girl at their wedding. About five years later, they became her legal guardians when Mrs. Stoppable started having serious health problems and needed Mr. Stoppable to take care of her full-time. Ron and Kim graciously offered to take Hannah in, though she practically lived with them already, much the way Ron was constantly at our house growing up. She and Ron have a special relationship, almost like telepathy. Kim says they "weird" her out, such as when Hannah ran to her room in a huff one day and Kim discovered she and her older brother had been arguing over pizza toppings—without ever saying a word out loud. But anyone who spends five minutes around them can tell Hannah idolizes Kim, even more so than Kim's cousin, Joss. Kim was always a little embarrassed by Joss (until Joss grew out of her hero worship of Kim…and transferred it to Ron). But with Hannah, it is different. Kim relates to Hannah uncannily like I treated Kim when she was a little girl.

"Yes, she's a very beautiful young woman. The boys…"

Ron groans and stares at the ceiling. "Yeah, if it were only _the boys_…I wish." I wait a minute for him to continue. Ron stands up and starts pacing back and forth.

"Have you ever met my, uh, I mean,_ our_ friend, Yori? From Japan?"

"Kim has mentioned Yori before, but no, I've never actually seen her."

"Do you remember when I was an exchange student for a few weeks?"

"Yes." What I remember is Kim arguing with her friend Monique over some "hottie" from Japan during the afternoons. But at night, she'd be pining over _My Ron_. "When's Ron getting back? I hope he's OK. I can't believe they took him for so long. When does the plane land?" She drove us crazy.

"Well, that's when I met Yori, and she sorta crushed on me. I mean, she kissed me only a couple of times…on the _cheek_."

I am worried about Kim, but my curiosity grows over where this story is going. I thought I had heard the condensed version of all their missions, but this is news to me. "So…"

"So," Ron continues, "over the past year or so, Hannah has started to look exactly like Yori did back then. I mean, it's like they're clones of each other."

"That's very interesting, Ron, but…" He stares at me like I'm dense. Then the light bulb finally flickers on inside my head. "Ohhh…you mean, Hannah is Yori's…" (Ron nods) "and Yori is Hannah's…"

"They're sisters?"

Ron bangs his head on the wall. "No, Mrs. Dr. P. Yori is Hannah's mother! Her real mother."

I sputter coffee over the saucer. "How do you know, or how does she know?"

"That's the weird part. It's like when you're a kid and one day you know that your parents are the real Santa. Hannah one day just _knew_ a few months ago. We were playing checkers, and out of the blue, she said, 'I think Yori's my real mother, Ron. King me.'"

"But that doesn't prove anything. How do you know Hannah _isn't_ a clone, or maybe a cousin?"

"That's what I thought at first, you know, sisters or cousins. Clones, ewww, sick and wrong, but remotely possible, I supposed. So Han emailed Yori and asked, and Yori replied 'yes' in her weird, roundabout way. It was more of a _not no_. She never gives anyone a straight answer."

"Well, I guess this Yori wouldn't_ not know_. So what does that have to do with Kim?"

"Well, maybe we should have told Kim sooner, but Hannah wanted to keep the news to herself and tell Kim on her own. She still has lots of questions, and it was obvious from Yori's message that Han would need to talk to her face to face for the answers. And then on her birthday, Hannah opened a card she got from Yori, and asked me how old I was when I first visited the Yamanouchi Ninja School. I told her it was a few weeks during our sophomore year in high school, which happened to be exactly nine months before Hannah's birth date listed on her adoption papers. Oh man, you could see the wheels churning in Kim's head, and then…we're talking Krakatoa squared."

I'm pretty shock proof. A brain surgeon has to be; working the emergency room shift means impromptu procedures like removing industrial nails accidentally gunned into a construction worker's head. But _this_… My eyes grow wide and my mouth hangs open before I say anything. "Ron, I can't believe you would…"

He interrupts me: "Yes! Thank you, Mrs. Dr. P. I was shocked, too, just like you are. But Kim, she just screamed at me over and over, 'how could you, you liar!' She started crying and locked herself into our bedroom. Han was pretty upset. I tried to talk to Kim through the door and explain that nothing happened when I was in Japan, at least not what she thought happened. I wish Rufus were still alive…he'd tell her."

Kim would refuse to cry whenever she was hurt. It was part of the contest of wills between herself and the mission she was on. But to do what she accomplished, she needed someone who she could rely on and trust. Ron, in his own odd way, became a substitute _me_. Of course, he often goofed up, but from the beginning, it wasn't about Ron's ability to help her as much as he was the one through whom she could defuse her fears. She needed him to be there for her. I remember one Friday evening when he didn't come over for one of their Ron nights—she was at a complete loss of what to do. She could have a severe plasma burn on her elbow and not bat an eye. But when Ron disappeared one Christmas to do a solo mission for her, she choked up. The possibility of losing her friend, her ground of support and trust, that's what almost crushed her, not the anaconda snake all of us wrestled that day looking for Ron.

I have a difficult time processing what Ron's telling me. I want to believe him; this would not be the first time Kim jumped to wrong conclusions about a girl who showed an interest in Ron. But a teenaged boy, a long ways from home, with a pretty young woman hitting on him… "Ron, you can understand why Kim would be suspicious and get upset, can't you?"

"No, I can't!" His eyes begin to water. "We weren't even dating—I would have told my best friend if something, you know, had gone on between me and Yori, which did _not_… But even before we were dating or got married, I never ever thought of any girl in that kind of way except Kim…and I think I'll shut up now." He blushes bright red.

"Sit down, Ron." I gently pat him on his hands. I almost smile at him—the neurons of normal teenage boys start generating thoughts about sex every 52.63 seconds, and the rate doesn't slow down much as they get older. His brain is genetically wired to be attracted to someone like Kim. "You behaved like a perfect gentleman around Kim. That's what counts. You don't realize how much it meant to me that I could trust you with my daughter. It means a lot to me now."

His eyes tear up again. "Thanks, Mrs. Dr. P."

I love him like my own children. There were times when they were growing up I found myself jealous of Mrs. Stoppable—he's such a part of my little girl's life, can we keep him? But of course, much of what I appreciate in Ron comes from his mother. He talked and acted like an eccentric teenager, but his values have always been, well, old world: kind, decent, respectful, considerate. No, I cannot imagine that he'd do anything to hurt Kim.

"Is there anything else? This seems like a misunderstanding that can be cleared up. It's not like Kim to run away from a problem."

"Well, you know we've been trying to have a baby the past few years. At first, we thought it was just bad timing or bad luck. But recently we tried to find out if there were any medical problems. She came back from her gynecologist, who ran some tests and x-rays, and I guess she told you the news."

I nod affirmatively.

Women aren't built for fighting, mentally or physically. I know that sounds sexist—but it's not. I don't mean in terms of strength and dexterity—I can tie off and remove a blood clot through a keyhole. My peers used to think women were less intelligent than men because we had smaller heads. Smaller skulls—but not smaller brains. Ours is packed in much tighter. I think evolution accounted for male aggression somewhat by giving men more room to whack each other while in their rutting seasons so the alpha males with big heads could still survive and dominate "the top of the food chain," as Kim's friend Bonnie used to say.

In Kim's case, the pounding she received during her years of save-the-world missions damaged her reproductive organs, and the internal scars have rendered her infertile.

She can do extraordinary things—but the accumulation of injuries—they took their toll on my daughter. But I couldn't say no, could I? She wouldn't be who she is, not to mention the fact that she saved the world from crazies several times over. But what she poured her life into has done something terrible to her—and I let her do it…of all people who should have known better. _I am so sorry, Kim._

I tried to be positive when she was in my office this morning: "Kim, it's possible the damage can be reversed through surgery and therapy. And have you and Ron considered adoption…" What was I thinking? I just wanted to fix things like always and make the pain go away.

Ron hands me a Kleenex to wipe my eyes. "Thank you, Ron."

I compose myself, and then he says, "There's more." _My God, what else?_

"Kim read the birthday card Yori sent to Han. It wasn't just a birthday card. There was also a formal invitation to attend the Yamanouchi School for the next three or four years. I still don't quite get it, but I think she snapped."

At last, I begin to understand. The combination of losing a surrogate daughter to a not-so-forthcoming rival who supposedly had a teenage fling with your boyfriend-now-husband who supposedly lied about it, compounded with the discovery she'll never have children of her own—she feels betrayed by everyone…including me. I feel so stupid and helpless.

_How are you feeling today, Mom?_

_Excuse me, but do I know you, young lady?_

_It's me, Annie. _

A few months later…still no word from Kim. Ron calls me to say she's doing OK, but he doesn't say much when I try to pry more information out of him. I accompany him and Hannah to the Middleton airport; she's leaving for Japan. They exchange "goodbyes"; Ron musses her hair and tells her to go easy on the new sensei, Master Yori. Then she surprises me with a backbreaking hug; she's as strong as Kim. "Goodbye, Mrs. Dr. P. Thanks for everything." Her smile is a sad one, as if she wishes she were hugging someone else.

One day I drop in on Ron to invite him over for dinner. I'm surprised by the U-Haul boxes stacked around the apartment. Ron is carefully wrapping plates in packing paper. "Hey, Mrs. Dr. P."

"What are you doing, Ron?"

"We're moving."

"I can see that. You found a house or condo across town and didn't tell me? I could have helped you clean and pack, you know."

"You might want to sit down for this, Anne."

Anne? He's never called me by my first name.

"Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes, please." Or maybe something stronger…I have a very bad feeling.

"We're leaving Middleton."

"You're what?" My kids, leaving their home, they can't! Does James know yet?

"We, or rather, Kim bought some property in New Mexico. We're going to build a ranch house there."

He keeps saying _we_. _We!_ Thank God for _we_. "When are you leaving?"

"Soon. Kim wants you to come see her and the new place; I think you'll like it. Of course, there's just a trailer now; we'll be practically camping. Here's a plane ticket to Santa Fe."

_Anne Duncan? This is the Lowerton Sheriff's department. _

_Yes? How can I help you?_

_We found your mother's car in a ditch along County Line Road. The car needs to be towed. Your mother appears to be fine, but she seems very disoriented._

_I'll be right there._

_Mom, are you all right?_

_Oh, Annie. I was driving to Lowerton to do some shopping, and then I forgot where I was going and saw this farm road to Aunt Bessie's house, so I turned off. But her house wasn't where it was supposed to be, so I tried turning around and backed into this ditch. _

_Mom, your Aunt Bessie lived in Canada when you were a teenager._

_I know that, Annie. Something's wrong with me lately…I'm so frightened. _

_Don't worry. I'll take care of you. _

I park the rental car next to a small trailer house on a dirt driveway. It is beautiful around here, I admit, warmer and drier than Middleton, and not another living soul it seems within 50 miles. I follow the directions Ron gave me, a cleared out hiking trail through the pine trees. It's so quiet, almost like a cathedral. At the end of the trail several yards ahead, there's a break in the trees through which I see a valley and a mountain range in the distance. And running towards me, Kimberly Anne. I hold her tight, not wanting to let her go. She takes my hand and leads me to the edge of a bluff overlooking the valley.

"Isn't it amazing?" In the distance we see an eagle or a hawk, lazily riding the air currents.

We sit next to one another; I reach to comb her hair with my fingers…and notice it's gone. "Kim, your hair!"

"Like it?" She does look very cute, almost a bob cut above her neckline.

"You do look more outdoorsy. Very elegant…and grown-up."

"Geez, I'm thirty years old, Mom."

"I know, but…" I grab hold of her hand again. "I was so worried about you," _and still am_. I look at Kim and feel like she's some lost animal, that if I say or do anything to startle her, she'll run away again. "What are you going to do here?"

"Do? You mean, what do I want to be when I grow up? Good question. I don't know anymore. Maybe learn how to cook. Plant a garden. Raise some goats and sell goat cheese. I think I'd like to write, paint, do something creative for a change instead of destroying Drakken's lair of the month. For the short term, I've been contracted as a security design consultant for Global Justice. After that, I'm out of the superhero business for good."

She leans back on her hands and stares across the valley.

"I need a change. I can't do the save the world gig anymore. I need to save _me_…Anyway, don't worry; I'm not going to run away again, and I'm sorry for frightening you."

"How did you find this place?"

"I got in the Sloth and started driving; I wanted to get far away from Middleton. I found a hotel near Albuquerque and started thumbing through a real estate guide in the lobby. I saw a picture of this place, and with the money I'm charging Global Justice, I made an offer."

I nod. It's very peaceful here.

"What about Ron?" I ask.

"I don't know. We need to talk. This thing with Hannah and Yori…" She looks away from me and sighs. "Did you know she came here a week ago to talk to me about Ron? Here I am in the middle of the wilderness, and I still can't get away from ninja supermodels."

I wait for her to go on.

"She said a bunch of Zen mumbo jumbo about Stoppable San's honor. I told her to show me a blood test and that'd settle Stoppable San's honor. She replied that requiring such a thing was beneath me and not worthy of the trust I should have in Ron. I clenched my fists; so help me, Mom, I wanted to knock her honorable head all the way back to Japan. So I asked her, point blank, if Ron wasn't Hannah's biological father, then who was."

"And Yori said…"

"She said that wasn't the issue here, and that if I couldn't trust Ron, then I wouldn't believe her anyway. She added that if I leave Ron, then I don't deserve to know the truth. In other words, mind your own business. I was so mad… Then she stared into my eyes. She was crying, though her voice was still even. She said I could not understand the sacrifices she had made, and that her own choice had tortured her for years. She bowed and said, 'Thank you, Possible San. I made the correct decision.' Well, nothing she ever says to me makes much sense. But the way she said it felt like one of her knives cutting right through me. She hugged me, and I started to cry, too. There we were, the two most lethal women in the world, balling like babies. So I told her, OK, I'd forgive Ron and give him another chance. And she said if that was the best I could do for now, she understood. She thanked me again, and in so-the-drama ninja style, disappeared in a cloud of smoke."

"I'm not sure what Yori means, either. But for what it's worth, Kim, I think she's right about your husband."

Kim leans forward and clasps her hands in front of her bent knees. She reminds me of when she was a little girl, sitting in her room after a fight with Ron, fiercely holding onto her pandaroo. "Mom, I'm scared. I don't know who I am or where I'm going anymore."

_What should I do, Mom? I want to fix Kim's life and help her put it back together._

_You can't fix everything, Annie. But you can help her like you helped me. _

_How did I help you? Five years of medical school, a career as a neurosurgeon, and for what? _

_You were there for me and loved me, even when I forgot who you were. Just be there for her. She doesn't need you to fix her. She needs you. _

I brush back her bangs. "Don't worry, Kimmie. I'll be here for you, no matter what."

As I wrap my arms around her, Kim again sighs deeply and says, "Thanks, Mom... I love you."

"I know you do, dear."

_Thanks, Mom. I love you_.

_I know you do, Annie._


	4. Nana

**CHAPTER FIVE  
"****NANA"**

_Dear Kim,_

_It is so humid down here in Florida. I was sorting through Nana's stuff in her attic after the funeral and discovered a box of old letters she and Grandpa Possible had written to each other before they were married. There was one bulky envelope that had not been opened until recently, then resealed. After reading the letter, I thought you should have it. Your father and I look forward to seeing our grandbabies, Karen and Ronald, soon. _

_Love, Mom. _

* * *

1950. Tokyo, Japan. 

Dear Tim,

Thank you for the birthday package. You think of everything a girl could ever want on her 20th birthday: a box of chocolates, perfume, a US Navy underwater demolition manual, and a catalog to Middleton College. And a ring!? We need to talk when I get back from Japan, Timothy James Tibble. I am very fond of you, but you know I want to finish college and apply to graduate school. But I'll save that for another letter. In the meantime, I have to finish my stint as Army nurse with the occupation forces here in Tokyo.

Tim, do you think time travel is possible, like in H. G. Wells's _The Time Machine_? Could you imagine someone really traveling back and forth in time? I mean, _War of the Worlds_ used to be one of my HGW favorites, but the idea of some race from outer space invading earth, how ridiculous!

Several months ago, I was introduced to the strangest woman I have ever met. She looked to be in her mid twenties, but, well, you can tell me what you think when I'm finished with this letter. I was doing a rotation in the psyche ward, and my commanding officer wanted me to meet this woman. She had been consigned to a solitary padded cell for a number of years, apparently. I could see fresh bandages covering cuts made across her wrist. Her face was thin and gaunt, with a haunted expression like she was seeing ghosts all around her. She seemed to be talking gibberish to no one in particular. She was very beautiful.

I know a little Japanese and introduced myself to her and held her hand. She stopped talking; she just stared at me and smiled. I was assigned to be her personal nurse and tried to maintain a proper professional attitude towards her. You know how it is—don't get emotionally attached to a patient. But it was impossible for me to not grow to like her very much, and she seemed eager for a friend. She was allowed to leave the hospital grounds as long as I accompanied her. She showed me the downtown district where she had been living before she was taken to the psychiatric ward.

One day she asked me if we could find an empty room where she could exercise, so the hospital commander allowed us access to one of the nearby Army gyms. She gave me a Shaolin monk robe and told me to change into it and meet her on the tumbling mats. There was this sergeant in the gym as well, punching a heavy boxing bag. He caught sight of me and—I haven't told you her name, I see. She called herself _Yori_. No last name, just Yori. The sergeant started yelling and cussing at us; he said no women were allowed in the gym, especially Japs. When I protested, he pushed me and I fell down. Then Yori—she moved so fast—was behind the sergeant, twisting his arm behind his back. That made him really mad, and he said some rather crude things to Yori I won't repeat in this letter. She flipped him hard onto the gym floor. He stood up and rushed her. She cold-cocked him with a punch to his throat, and while he was gasping for air, she swept his legs at the knee joints; I thought I heard something pop. A couple of MPs dragged him out of the gym; he never bothered us again. Yori said she could teach me her fighting techniques. Well, to make a long story short, we've been in the gym at every opportunity. I've never been so worn out, bruised and sore in my life.

One day we were eating lunch downtown. I wanted to know how she learned what she called "Kung-Fu." She made me promise to never tell anyone who she was or anything about her past. I guess I'm breaking that promise now, but perhaps you'll understand why by the end of this letter.

She said that she learned the secrets of the martial arts at a place called the Yamanouchi School hidden in the mountains. It's a secret training institute for assassins, called ninjas, according to Yori. If I hadn't seen what she did to that sergeant—not to mention experiencing the training regimen she's put me through—I would have thought she was crazy. But that's not the _real_ crazy part, Tim. When I asked her when she attended this school, she said in the 1270's. I laughed at first; she has a quirky sense of humor, and I thought she was pulling my leg. I told her she looked pretty good for someone nearly 700 years old. She laughed and said, no, she was only in her late twenties. We went to see a movie and I forgot about her odd joke…until a few days later.

We were walking around the hospital grounds, arguing over who was the better actor, Humphrey Bogart or Jimmy Stewart. In the middle of the conversation, she said, "My mother was a sorceress, and my father a samurai warrior." I was about to say her joke wasn't funny, but the tone in her voice—I could tell by then when she was being serious and did not want to be interrupted, even when she was having one of her dementia spells. She told me the following incredible story:

"In those days, a group of samurai called Lotus Sutra came to power. They were intolerant of any potential political threats, so my father went into hiding, pretending to be a peasant. He met my mother, a shaman, who was also hiding from the Lotus Sutra. Any use of magic was outlawed, and orders were issued to execute any known shamans or sorceresses like my mother. My father and mother fell in love, and a year later my mother gave birth to me. When I was twelve, she and my father felt an oppressive foreboding. They took me to a hidden place in the mountains, the Yamanouchi School of Ninjas. They made arrangements with the sensei to keep me there, pretending to be a boy, since girls were not allowed to train as ninja. My parents said they would return, but I never saw them again. I was told one of the villagers betrayed them."

"Though I was smaller than most of the students, I easily mastered all the secrets of the ninja arts. By my 17th year, my skills rivaled that of the sensei's, but as you can imagine, it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide my sex from the other students, including one who was extremely jealous of my standing as the sensei's top student and apprentice instructor."

"One day, the sensei took me into one of the shrines, a particularly sacred one that no students were allowed to enter without permission. He removed a stone from the floor and lifted out of a secret box a sword unlike any I had trained with. 'This is the Lotus Blade,' the sensei told me. 'It is ancient, forged from the essence of the earth itself, indwelt and empowered by the spirit who made the sword. It augments the abilities of the one who uses it in ways even I do not fully comprehend. It has a mind of its own, and would destroy anyone who tried to possess it. Instead, the Lotus Blade grants permission to be used when great need arises.' He gently handed me the blade—it began to glow a bluish-green. It became hotter and hotter, though I found I was able to hold the sword by concentrating my will."

"I began seeing visions, including one of a huge fleet from China bearing a Mongol army, setting sail for the island of Kyushu, my home. I told the Sensei that I must leave at once…with the Lotus Blade. He did not question me. When we emerged from the shrine, he clapped his hands twice. A student brought the school's swiftest horse, and I left immediately. In my rush, I did not notice a second horse following me."

"When I arrived at a cliff high above the beachhead, I could see the Shogun's army was spread out while the Mongol ships filled the ocean horizon. If the barbarians landed, no one could stop them. The samurai would be slaughtered; they were like a spider web trying to stop a wild boar. I heard a voice inside my head—it was the Lotus Blade, telling me to invoke the wind, a storm from the gods. I held the sword up, and chanted for the divine wind, the kamikaze. At first, nothing happened. Then a breeze whipped my hair. The winds grew stronger. Above the Mongol fleet I saw black, angry swirling clouds form a cyclone, scattering the ships, or else crashing them into each other. Waves the size of hillsides smashed down upon the ships, breaking them into kindling. The wind carried away the sound of cries of men drowning, the angry curses shouted toward the shore, and then the voices were no more, leaving only the surf pounding the rock strewn beaches. I fell down on the ground, wet and cold, spent of all my energy. The sword no longer glowed, but it seemed to hum, as if it were singing a victory chant."

"I heard the sound of horses riding up behind me. It was my jealous classmate, leading a half-dozen mounted samurai. He yelled, 'There she is, the witch! She's to be put to death—did you not see the storm she conjured? Besides, she is a woman at the ninja school, also punishable by death.' The tallest soldier dismounted and said to me, 'Our young friend here is correct, of course, on the first count, though we are most grateful for your contribution in defeating the Mongols.' My classmate grinned. 'But,' the samurai continued, 'he's somewhat mistaken on the second point. It is not your being female at a ninja school that is punishable by death.' The gleeful look on my classmate's face turned a shade of green as he realized he had spoken too much. The soldier asked, 'Even by your own codes, is not revealing the existence of a ninja school to a sworn enemy a mortal crime?' I nodded. 'Bind this fool and take him back to camp. He doesn't deserve the honor of a swift death. As for you, woman, you are twice condemned. It displeases me, but I am bound to the laws of the Shogun, you understand. I do not want your spirit haunting me. I give you a choice of honor. You may do what you must with your own blade. Or I will execute the sentence myself, swiftly and painlessly. Which do you choose?' he asked. I told him the first. 'As I knew you would. I shall return in one hour. Farewell, young ninja sorceress.'"

"I seethed with anger. 'Where is the honor in such naked stupidity,' I yelled. I knelt and held the tip of the lotus blade against my stomach. I wished for just a moment that I could be taken away from this place where grateful samurai put to death those who just saved them. As I began to press the blade, a brilliant blue flash blinded my eyes. When I awoke, I was in your century."

I thought, _Yori, my friend, I love you like a sister, but you are certifiably insane_. I said, "Let me get this straight. You were once a renegade ninja sorceress from the 13th century, your mother was a shaman priestess, your father a samurai on the run, you personally saved Japan from being overrun by the Kublai Khan, and this magic sword of yours zapped you into 1950. Right?" Yori replied that I was correct, except for the last detail and the very first point. "I was transported to the year 1988. And Humphrey Bogart is much handsomer than James Stewart," she said.

I didn't see Yori for the next several months. Another war had broken out in Korea, and I was assigned to a MASH unit. But that conversation haunted me every day. I couldn't get her voice, her face out of my head; she sounded so sincere. I know it sounds horrible, but there were times I was almost thankful to be taking care of the wounded, just so my mind was on someone else besides Yori. And yes, I always thought about you, no matter what. I pinned your picture inside the front pocket of my fatigues. I can't bring myself to tell you the things I've seen men do to each other, but of course, you already know, don't you? Did I ever tell you when I started to fall in love with you? It was soon after we first met. You had just come home from the battle at Okinawa. You said you were a Quaker medic for the Marines. It was the weirdest thing anyone had ever said to me on a first date. That was the moment.

Anyway, I was on furlough back in Tokyo and found Yori as soon as I could. She was renting a small apartment by the hospital. She said she had not been feeling well lately, but was very happy to see me. She asked me questions about Korea—it was a relief for me to talk to someone. Whatever I thought about her sanity, she certainly wasn't squeamish about surgery details. Had I met any handsome doctors, she wanted to know. NO! She was just teasing me; I've told her about you. We spent several days together and went out to a fancy restaurant the day before I had to return to my MASH unit. She was quiet during dinner, and then as if our previous strange conversation had never ended, she said:

"I woke in a dumpster. My ninja clothes were soiled. I had no idea who I was at first. I climbed out of the dumpster and was almost run over by a bus. You have no idea how disorienting waking up 700 years in the future can be, especially when one is suffering from amnesia."

"I was found by a man who checked me into a hotel. His 'girls' cleaned me, put modern clothes on me, and gave me some food. I think they put drugs in the food, because it seemed for many weeks—I don't know—my mind was in a haze. I was turned into an 'entertainer.' It shamed me; I was glad I could not remember much of anything from day to day."

"Then one day I woke up feeling nauseas. In my dreams a voice kept saying, 'Wake up, Yori.' It was the Lotus Blade. Suddenly I knew who I was, and I realized what had happened. The Lotus Blade had listened to my complaint and taken me forward in time. I also realized that I was pregnant. The father? Who knows? One of the pimp's customers, no doubt. Now the sword was calling for me to retrieve it and return it to the Yamanouchi School, but at the time, I was in no condition to do so. I escaped from the hotel and somehow found a halfway house for street women. They let me stay there during my pregnancy."

"I also found the Lotus Blade in a pawn shop not far from the halfway house. I told the manager that I was supposed to return it to my old ninja school; he just laughed at me and suggested I buy a cheap American watch. I told him, 'OK, have it your way.' The sword began to burn blue flames, catching the side of his shop on fire and melting all of his fake samurai swords on his wall that he intended to sell to ignorant tourists. 'Take it,' he screamed. I asked him if he were sure. He started crying like a baby. 'Take it away,' he said. I grabbed the Lotus Blade, walked out of the store, and asked the sword if burning the man's shop was necessary. It just hummed, as if it were highly amused. During the months I was pregnant, I read voraciously. After all, I had to catch up on 700 years of world and Japanese history. Some things were truly marvels, many things sad. What grieved me most were the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and on Kokura, on my home island."

I was confused. "Yori," I told her, "the second bomb was dropped on Nagasaki." "No," she insisted. She had even visited the Kokura Atomic Bomb Museum. There was no such place, I told her. She didn't argue, but kept talking:

"Then I thought to myself, I can stop the bombs, like with the kamikaze that destroyed the Mongol fleet. The idea obsessed me. I came up with a plan. I would take my baby to the Yamanouchi School when it was old enough, for safe keeping. The Lotus Blade would take me to the past, before the bombings. I would stop them, and then return to the school for my baby. It seemed so obviously simple."

"The baby was born, a beautiful little girl. I named her after myself, 'Yori.' Several months later, with the help of the Lotus Blade, I found the school. The students were somewhat surprised to see a woman knock on the gates holding a one year old baby and a two-thousand year old magical sword, but not nearly as surprised as the Sensei, an old man who reminded me of my sensei. 'You cannot be,' he said. 'You are a legend passed on from my great-great grandsires.' 'Well, here I am, Pops,' I told him. 'I have returned the Lotus Blade, but I need to borrow it a little longer; then I'll bring it back for good. In exchange, you will take care of my daughter, little Yori, for a few days. Here's her diaper bag and some extra formula.' She started to cry when I handed her to the sensei; clearly holding babies was not one of the skills taught to modern ninja. 'Shush, little one,' I told my Yori. 'Mama will be back soon,' and I kissed her goodbye."

"I walked into the old shrine where the Lotus Blade had been kept and knelt on the stone floor. 'Take me back to the week before the bombs,' I told it. The sword started vibrating violently in my hands. I heard an ancient woman's voice inside my head, the spirit of the Lotus Blade. 'You cannot do this,' she told me. 'Watch me,' I dared the blade. 'No! You can do many great things with the Lotus Blade, but you cannot presume to change the past. You should not even be here now, past your time. You should have let the samurai give you a quick and honorable…' 'Those thousands of people, evaporated in the blink of an eye, I will not allow that to happen,' I yelled at the voice. The spirit of the old woman said nothing. I concentrated on the sword again, willing it to take me back forty-five years. 'Wait,' said the voice in the sword. 'You cannot save both cities. You may choose one, Hiroshima or Kokura, but you will pay a great price for that choice.' 'That is no choice,' I argued. 'Choose one city,' the old woman's spirit insisted. 'I hate you,' I said. 'Kokura, on my home island, take me there,' I told the Lotus Blade. The sword started glowing. The walls of the shrine shimmered until I was surrounded in a blue flame."

"When it faded away, I was standing on a high mountain top, overlooking the city of Kokura and the island of Kyushu. I could see the American plane rapidly approaching the city. I pointed the blade towards the clouds and started chanting for the kamikaze. The wind swirled around me; it turned into a tempest, cradling the city, driving away the plane. It worked! The bomb did not fall. I sat down, thanking the gods for protecting Kokura."

"Miles away to the south, I saw a brilliant flash of light; moments later, I heard a low rumble and felt the hot breath of another breeze. A fear began to grow deep within me. Then I saw that unholy cloud rising above Nagasaki. The Lotus Blade hummed and vibrated, mocking my arrogance. 'Great gods, what have I done?' I cried. My grief was too great for tears."

"'Take me back to the Yamanouchi School and my daughter,' I told the sword. Nothing happened—and I began to realize the price to be paid. The old woman's voice whispered, 'You are twice condemned, ninja sorceress. You have violated the laws of time and space. You stand condemned by a city you could not protect. You know the price for your crimes, but this time, there is no samurai to help speed your journey to the netherworld. Be thankful for this one small mercy: your name will live on in your daughter—but you will see her no more.' I screamed, and kept screaming, until you found me."

I was dumbstruck. No wonder she had been isolated in the psyche ward for years. It was the craziest thing I had ever heard, but she told the story with such conviction that I was heartbroken, wondering what had happened to Yori to make her mind wander in such a delusional world. When we returned to her apartment, I told her I had to go back to Korea the next day. She reached over and placed both her hands on my temples, kissed me on the forehead, and said goodbye.

I am almost finished with my letter, Timothy. I saved the strangest part for last. I returned from Korea a few months later. I opened Yori's door—she had given me a spare key—and her tiny apartment was empty. There were two notes on the table, both addressed to me, one from the hospital, the other from Yori. I opened the one from the hospital first: _We regret to inform you of Yori's recent passing away. She was found in her room wearing a black kimono. An old sword was found underneath her body. The cause of her death is unknown; the autopsy revealed massive internal hemorrhaging consistent with someone who had committed seppuku (hara-kiri), though there were no external injuries or wounds. Her remaining possessions are stored in a box in the closet, including the sword. We are very sorry. _

I wiped away a tear and then read Yori's letter: _You gave me a brief reprieve filled with such happiness, delaying payment of a long overdue debt. I cheated the Lotus Blade by transferring part of my soul to you at our last meeting; please forgive me. That part of me within you will be released in the first girl born of your children or children's children who is also firstborn—not the sorcery part, but my stubborn insistence that anything was possible. She may exhibit remarkable fighting skills worthy of a master ninja. The destinies of our offspring will be intertwined. Farewell, my dearest friend. Yori._

I then heard a strange humming from the direction of her closet. A blue light flashed beneath the gap in the door, and then the humming stopped. I opened the closet and found the small box, but there was no sword. I opened the box; it was partially filled with a few scarves and hospital documents. Then I found a ticket receipt: Admit One Adult and One Child, Kokura Atomic Bomb Museum and Memorial, _9 August 1989_.

Timothy, I don't know what to think. Someday I hope you will read this letter; maybe you can help me make sense out of it. But I don't want you to think I'm crazy too, so I've decided not to send it. When my tour of duty is over, I have arranged to stay at a Shaolin monastery for a few months to continue the Kung-Fu training started by Yori. I so miss you, best friend boy friend.

Truly yours,

Karen Kimberly Possois

P.S: I've been thinking about if we were to get married. You know how I feel about giving up my last name. Nor am I too keen on hyphenating our names into Possois-Tibble. But Yori gave me an idea—what if we merged them, as in _Poss-ible_? We'll talk when I get home.

_P.P.S: Dear Timothy, I just got back from our granddaughter's high school graduation. You would have been so proud of her! I met the parents of her boyfriend, Ron Stoppable. He's such a nice young man; he reminds me some of you. The Stoppables introduced me to their adopted baby, Hannah. She's the cutest little thing you ever saw. I held her in my arms—and would you believe?—she looked me in the eyes like she's known me all her life and kissed me on the forehead. _


	5. Appendix

**APPENDIX**  
BRIEF CHRONOLOGY/FAMILY TREES

COMPILED FROM KIM POSSIBLE'S FAMILY MEMOIRS AND DIARIES

Note: The information below is to assist readers of "Origins" keep straight the basic narrative. The dates are in Kim Possible time, not "real" time. The intervals of years are the key data, not so much the literal years themselves.

Hannah Stoppable Family Chronology

1) Hannah Stoppable: born 2005-6ish, birth daughter of Yori II, adopted in 2006-7ish by Mr. and Mrs. Stoppable, Ron's parents. Kim and Ron become Hannah's legal guardians around 2015-16ish. Hannah graduates from Yamanouchi School of Ninjas around 2023-24ish.

2) Yori II: born 1989-90ish, daughter of Yori I. The male contributor to Yori I's pregnancy is unknown. Yori II becomes new head master of Yamanouchi School in 2020ish. The previous sensei retires as master ninja emeritus. (More about Yori coming soon.)

3) Yori I: born mid 1250s to an unnamed shaman sorceress and an unnamed exiled samurai. Time travels forward to 1988-90ish, gives birth to Yori II, leaves her with old master sensei, travels back in time to 1945. Dies around 1951-52ish in her late twenties. Cause of death unknown.

4) Unnamed Shaman Sorceress: birth date probably in early 1230s in southern island of Japan. Mother of Yori I and wife of unnamed samurai solder. Leaves Yori I with master sensei of Yamanouchi School in late 1260s. Executed along with her husband in early 1270s. She is a direct line descendent of Himiko, a legendary shaman in the early history of Japan.

5) Himiko: Yori briefly mentions her to Kim early in Kim's senior high school semester. (Look for Himiko's story in a forthcoming chapter of "Origins.")

Kim Possible Family Chronology

1) Kimberly Anne Possible: Kim Possible, born 1989-90ish, roughly same age as Yori II, daughter of Drs. Anne and James Possible. Marries boyfriend Ron Stoppable in 2010-11ish. Retires from Saving-the-World and moves to New Mexico, 2020ish. Gives birth to twins, Karen and Ronald, around 2030ish.

2) Anne Duncan: born 1960ish to Mr. and Mrs. Duncan. First woman graduate of Middleton College of Medicine combined M.D.-Ph.D. program in neurology in early 1980s. Marries Dr. James T. Possible in mid 1980s; in addition to Kim (listed above), she gives birth to twins Tim and Jim, mid 1990s. Mr. Duncan serves in U.S. Air Force, listed as MIA in Vietnam, late 1960s. Mrs. Duncan dies of complications related to Alzheimer's disease at Middleton Nursing Home in late 1980s.

3) Karen Kimberly Possois: born 1930ish. Serves as U.S. Army nurse in Korea, early 1950s, and as martial arts trainer for U.S. Navy demolition teams in mid 1950s. Marries Timothy James Tibble in late 1950s, combining names into "Possible." Gives birth to Eugene "Slim" Possible in 1958-59ish and to James "Jim" Possible in 1960ish. T. J. Tibble serves as medic for the U.S. Marines in the war against Japan, mid 1940s; architectural engineer noted for designing and constructing several buildings in Middleton, including Middleton High School and Middleton Memorial Hospital. Karen and Timothy retire to Florida in mid 1990s. Timothy dies in drowning accident, late 1990s, while saving young girl caught in a flash flood. Karen lives to 100th birthday and passes away in her sleep soon after the birth of her great-grandchildren.

Others worth mentioning

1) Mara, shaman leader from the planet, Lorwardia. See introduction to volume one of_ A Children's History of Lorwardia_ by Kimberly A. Possible, Ph.D., Visiting Professor of Inter-Planetary Literature and Culture, University of New Mexico at Roswell.

2) Miriam "Mim" Possois: Curious figure in early history of Middleton. Close friend of Johnathan Stoppable, though neither married. Both are distant relatives (umpteenth cousins removed) of current generation of Possible and Stoppable families. Became world travelers soon after Miriam served two year sentence for theft in the Middleton Women's Penitentiary. They never returned to Middleton.


	6. Author Comments

**AUTHOR COMMENTS ON**  
"**ORIGINS"**

Nota Bene: All Kim Possible characters are the property of Disney, Inc. Mara, the original Yori, Mrs. Duncan, and maybe a few more to come, are not.

Dear Readers,

Chapters Four and Six (the final one) will be forthcoming after the holidays. Be patient, and let me know what you think of the story so far. As "Origins" continues to evolve, each chapter is turning into its own self-contained vignette, focussed on the women in my own Kim Possible mythology. The haphazard order is rather the point. As the mathematician Malcolm says in _Jurassic Park_, only in the modern western half of the world do we fool ourselves into thinking life happens in a neat, predictable, chronological order. However, I have added an appendix to help make the narrative a little easier to follow.

"Origins" is a work in progress. I have a pretty good idea how I want it to end (or rather, begin), but getting there will be an adventure for me as well as Kim and company.

When the story is finished, I will cite my sources properly, but for the time being, the background of Anne Possible in chapter three borrows from the works of two brain specialists, Katrina Firlik, M.D., and Louann Brizendine, M.D.

The backdrop for "Origins" is in the epilogue chapter of "A Light Carol." Hannah even alludes to the events in that story. And yes, this is a shameless self-promotional plug—I hope you read "A Light Carol" (if you haven't already). Let me know what you think about _this_ story as well. I'm going out on a limb with this one, trying some new things in terms of structure and narrative voice.

Sincerely,

The Lady Rhetorica


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